


Post-It Notes

by commodorecliche



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Funny, Humor, M/M, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Roommates, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 21:37:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3993748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commodorecliche/pseuds/commodorecliche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco procures an obscene amount of Post-It notes. Jean doesn't believe for a single second that Marco will ever need that many Post-It notes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Post-It Notes

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a fic request by [nut-m3g](http://nut-m3g.tumblr.com), who requested that Marco buys a huge amount of sticky notes and winds up leaving a bunch around for Jean. 
> 
> And then I got carried away. Enjoy the smut and the humor!

After two and a half years of dating, and a year and a half of sharing a dorm room, I like to think that I’m fairly used to Marco’s random peculiarities. There are certain, little things about Marco that – while odd – seem add to the plethora of reasons why I adore that boy. From the way he somehow always manages to accidentally wedge himself in the crack between the two beds we have pushed together, to the way he eats milk and cereal out of a mug, I love Marco.

But once in a while, he still manages to catch me off-guard.

And today is one of those days.

It’s a quarter past four in the afternoon, and Marco _definitely_ should have been back from his shift at the campus bookstore by now. Sitting at my desk, and attempting to focus on my history text book, I can’t help but glance to my phone, constantly looking to see if Marco has replied to any of my texts yet. But he hasn’t.

Sighing softly to myself, I tilt back in my chair, stretching out a bit and dragging my hands over my face. I stare at my phone for another moment longer, and I’m just about to pick it up and send Marco one last text to ask if he’s okay, when I’m interrupted by the sound of the door slamming open with a loud thud.

I can’t help but startle at the sudden bolster of noise, spinning around quickly to look for the source. My eyes immediately land on Marco’s form, standing halfway through the door with his arms strained around a box about the size of his entire torso. He shuffles in briskly, not bothering to kick the door shut behind him, and plops the box down atop our bed with a huff.

“Um…” I start, dragging my eyes over the box with curiosity, “Whatcha got there?”

Marco shifts his attention towards me excitedly. His breath is still a little uneven from the strain of carting around the box, but there’s a gleam in his eyes and a proud smile on his face. He yanks open one of the flaps and snatches out a handful of what… appear to be small pads of Post-It notes.

“Sticky Notes!” He says gleefully.

I push up from my chair, striding over to the box with an unbridled look of confusion on my face.

“That whole box?” I ask, not even trying to hide the incredulity in my tone.

“Mhm!”

Furrowing my brow, I yank up a flap, digging around a bit in what has to be _at least_ a couple hundred pads of Post-It notes. I pick up a couple before dropping them back amongst the others.

“…Marco, why – pray tell – do you have an _entire box_ of these?”

“Our supplier at the bookstore messed up an order and brought, literally, a _major_ surplus and wouldn’t take them back. Management’s been trying to sell them for like two weeks, and now they’re basically giving them away… They just wanna get rid of them. Got this whole box for like $6!”

Marco looks at me as if he expects me to be proud of his accomplishment. And maybe it is a little impressive that he managed to get several hundred pads of sticky notes for just a few bucks, but I still cannot fathom why on earth anyone would actually _need_ hundreds of Post-It note pads. Who could logically use this many sticky notes? I could probably live a hundred years and not use half the number of sticky notes in this box.

“There’s a look on your face,” I start, addressing him slowly, “that tells me you are… _really_ happy about this.”

Marco nods, his smile never leaving his lips.

I gesture to the box.

“Why?” I ask him steadily, and at this point, I’m not even sure if I’m asking why he’s so proud of getting the sticky notes or why he even got them in the first place. I suppose I’m asking both, considering they’re both extremely reasonable questions to have.

Marco chuckles incredulously, his eyes widening a bit, smiling at me as if _I’m_ the crazy one in this situation.

“Eheh, why? What do you mean ‘why’? Why _not_?”

“You will literally never need this many Post-It notes…”

“Well that’s just not true.” He says dismissively, moving from the bed towards the door of our room. He shuts it quietly, and moves back to the box, not hesitating to reach in and grab out a huge armful. Marco cradles them in his arms as he makes his way over to his desk, and plops them on the tabletop. Without looking back at me, he begins to sort and stack the pads, arranging them into neat little piles on his desk.

“So… you’re telling me that you need… what, 25, pads of sticky notes on your desk at one time?”

“You never know.”

“No, babe, I feel like this is one of those things that most people _do_ know.” I say with a light chuckle, dragging my hand through my hair as I glance between the box on our bed and my boyfriend as he continues to arrange his 20-something pads.

“Oh, quit being a sourpuss, Jean. Look, I _promise_ , I will use them.”

Crossing my arms, I can’t help the little scoff that slips past my lips.

“I bet you won’t.”

Marco actually pauses, stopping his arranging to turn around to look at me. Leaning back against his desk, he crosses his arms, mimicking my posture.

“Oh yeah? Is that a challenge?”

“You know, yeah. Yeah, it is.” I gesture idly to the numerous pads sitting along his desk, “I bet in a month, you won’t have even made a _dent_ in the ones on your desk.”

Marco chuckles, smirking softly to himself before turning back towards his desk.

“Heh, we’ll see about that. What are the stakes?”

“Okay. If I win,” I start, pointing to the box quickly, “those are gone. We’ll donate them or something.”

“Fine, and if _I_ win?”  

“Fuck it, if you win, hopefully we won’t have any Post-It notes left.”

“Nah, not good enough.”

“Then what do you want?”

Marco thinks for a moment, before smiling coyly.

“I’ll think of something.” He smirks mischievously. 

**::**

Luckily, I manage to find a suitable place to store the giant box of Post-It notes that Marco had so unwittingly adopted for us. Stowing them in the back part of the larger of the two closets in our room, I think this is likely the best option. With the box hidden away, I can quickly let them fade from my thoughts, leaving Marco to deal with the colorful nuisance he’s brought home.

The ones on his desk, Marco mainly uses for note taking and marking pages in his textbooks for studying. But it doesn’t take long before he realizes that this method alone isn’t actually going to make a dent in the several stacks of pads that adorn his desk.

It’s then, I think, that Marco realizes he’ll have to resort to alternative measures.

About two days after Marco had hauled the box into our room, I find the first Post-It note.

Marco had gotten up before me, heading out early to his 8 am class. Rolling out of bed around 10 am, I wash up, change, and get ready to head to American Literature. As I move to take hold of the doorknob of our room to leave, I see it.

A bright pink post-it note stuck haphazardly to the center of the door that reads:

With a slight sigh, I snatch the piece of paper off the door. I crumple it up in my fist and toss it into the garbage before heading out to my class.

**::**

I spend most of class trying to convince myself that this is _not_ connected to my little challenge with Marco, and that my sweet, loving boyfriend was just trying to be helpful, since I won’t see him very much today. I’ve got classes scheduled till noon, but I know Marco will only have a short break around 11 before he has to go back to lecture.

I never was a big fan of Tuesdays.

He might be done by 12:45 though… maybe we could squeeze in a quick lunch before my 1:30 lab.

As discretely as I can, I tug my phone out from my pocket. I glance around to make sure that Professor Shadis hasn’t noticed before typing out a quick text to Marco to ask if he wants to grab lunch before our afternoon obligations. I send it off and quickly turn my attention back to Shadis, who’s at the front of the room, giving a lecture about… something I _probably_ should have been paying attention to… Oh well.

The class drones on and on, and yet, I still don’t get a text back from Marco. Even as 11 o’clock rolls around, when he should’ve been free, I still don’t receive a text. As Shadis wraps up, I gather my things slowly, trudging back to our room and thinking that I’ll just eat a granola bar or something to hold me over. Marco and I both are members of the campus’s student-submission literary magazine, and those meetings are only an hour long… Maybe we can get dinner or something afterwards.

Unlocking the door to our suite, I slide inside and flick the lights on, toeing off my shoes before heading towards the mini-fridge. I move to dig around in the basket sitting atop it, in search of some form of sustenance, but something yellow catches my eye before I do.

Stuck to the fridge, with words written in Marco’s handwriting, is a goddamn post-it note. 

There’s a moment when I’m frozen, staring at this sticky note as if it were the bane of my existence, placed there merely to taunt me. Because the odds are that Marco actually _did_ place it here to taunt me. I straighten my back and roll my shoulders a bit, feeling my jaw threatening to clench. I’m not actually angry or anything, no, nothing like that. I’m mostly just mildly annoyed, because if this is his plan to eat his way through the post-it notes that line his desk, it just doesn’t seem fair. Especially considering that this plan seems to directly involve annoying me.

But then again, it’s only two notes so far… Maybe he’s just… enjoying leaving notes right now. Maybe he thinks it’s cute, maybe he thinks it’s sweet… (it totally is not _either_ of those things, but whatever). But it’s okay, because this isn’t out of control yet.

Two unnecessary sticky notes does not a problem make. So I decide that – for now – I’ll just let this one go.

I check my phone, noting that I’ve still got a little while before I need to meet up with my boyfriend. Settling down onto the bed, I glance over at Marco’s desk. The sticky note pads are still arranged in neat, organized little piles, except for two – one pink pad, and one yellow pad – sitting haphazardly in the middle of the desk. Freshly used.

I sigh, roll my eyes, and flop back onto the bed.

**::**

Lunch is fine, and I don’t even bother bringing up the two notes Marco had left me. He obviously knows I got them, considering the fact that I showed up to meet him at 12:45. But I’m stubborn, and if he _is_ doing this on purpose, I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging them. We eat and laugh and bitch and moan about our classes, and before I know it, it’s time for my lab. We clear our plates, and part with a kiss, and a promise to see each other later tonight.

But before I can fully turn away, I feel Marco grab my hand. He pulls me back and tugs me into another brief hug. He wraps his arms around me tenderly and I can’t help but smile; he knows how to win me over. With a brief pat on my back, he releases me, tells me he loves me, and plants another kiss on my cheek. With a wink, he’s off, heading back to our dorm room without another word. I shake my head and chuckle before turning to head towards the science building for lab.  

I just barely make it before it’s time for lab to start. I settle down quickly next to my lab partner, Reiner, at our table. He greets me with a nod, before furrowing his brow a bit.

“Hold still…” He mumbles to me, turning my shoulder a bit and plucking something off my back.

When he offers it to me, I feel myself scowl a little to myself before relaxing my features. I want to be irritated and yet… I just can’t. 

I play a bit with the stickiness on the back of the note, reading it a couple times before crumpling it up and shoving it into my pocket. I catch Reiner’s curious gaze and shake my head.

“Don’t ask.” I groan.

“Wasn’t gunna…” He laughs back to me, turning his attention to the front as Professor Pixis begins to set up.

**::**

Returning to the room after lab, I half expect there to be a Post-It note waiting for me on the door, but I’m pleasantly surprised to find nothing extra there. And when I enter, all I’m met with is Marco, sitting on the bed, hunched over his laptop. As I slip into the room, closing the door behind me, he smiles at me, his eyes immediately perking up.

“There he issss…” he says, hopping off the bed to embrace me as I set my bag down.

Ever so gently, he presses a soft kiss to my lips and releases me, asking me about my lab and if I actually managed to read any of the submissions we’re supposed to review and approve tonight at the Lit group. I can’t help but glance over both my shoulders just to make sure he hasn’t stuck something else to me… When I see that he hasn’t, I shuck off my shoes and make my way towards the bed, telling him that I only made it through about half of the submissions.

Marco moves his laptop off the mattress and settles down to lie down with me. We only have a little bit of time before we have to head back out, but I figure it can’t hurt to relax for a little while. Marco wastes no time, inching in close to me and tucking himself up under my arm. His head on my chest, I let my fingers trail through his hair, the two of us simply relaxing in the quiet.

I must have dozed off though, because the next thing I know, Marco’s shaking me awake, telling me that we have to go. I groan, stretching out, mumbling something about _please just a couple more minutes._ Marco just laughs and shoves at me, nudging my body closer and closer to the edge of the bed, before he hops off the mattress and slides on his shoes. With a grunt, I reluctantly follow suit, standing and reluctantly sliding on my shoes. As Marco gathers up a few things into his messenger bag, I move into the bathroom attached to our suite to at least _attempt_ to fix what I assume is my mess of hair.

I approach the mirror and fumble to flick the light on. But instead of my unblocked reflection, I’m met instead with… surprise, surprise… a fucking note. 

I groan loudly, and I’m about ready to call Marco out on this shit. But I stop myself, resolving myself not to acknowledge his nonsense just yet. I’ll see how long he thinks he can keep doing this. Instead, I fix my hair, and trudge out of the bathroom, telling Marco I’m ready to go.

The two of us head over to our meeting, settling in with the other members of the club as our editor, Ymir, prepares to bring up some of the student submissions we’re set to review this week. As more people begin to file in, I notice Marco digging around in his bag for something, before pulling out – you guessed it – a fucking Post-It note pad and a pen.

“Oh, come _on_.” I whisper before I can even stop myself.

Marco just smirks at me and shrugs.

“Whaaaat?” He asks me, feigning mock innocence.

I’m ready this time to call him out, to tell him exactly what I think of how ridiculous he’s being, but Ymir is already calling our attention, ready to begin reviewing the first submission.

I probably don’t need to tell you that over the course of the meeting, after every single piece, Marco makes sure to pass me at least one Post-It note. I also probably don’t need to tell you that I crumple up each and every one of them until Marco is stifling giggles next time and I’m stuck with a horde of crumpled up wads of sticky notes surrounding me on the desk.

After we vote on the second to last piece, I see Marco starting to write something on the pad. But this time, I don’t even hesitate to reach over and snatch the pad away from him, along with his pen. Tearing off the one he’d already started writing on, and starting on a fresh note, I scribble out to him:

Marco chortles loudly, trying his damnedest to stifle himself, but Ymir, it would seem, has finally had enough.

“Is everything alright back there?” She asks with annoyance.

Marco nods quickly, waving her off.

“Yup, we’re good! Sorry. Please continue.”

The brunette rolls her eyes, but continues leading discussion about the piece. Marco is quiet for a little while, before he slowly scribbles something out and slides the pad back to me. 

**::**

Following the night at our literary review, one would think that Marco would know exactly _how_ done I am with this Post-In note bullshit. And believe you me, he absolutely, 100% knows how done I am. But if you think that that’s going to stop him for one single second, then you are gravely mistaken. No, rather than my annoyance serving as a clue for him to stop the shenanigans, it serves only to fuel him further.

It probably goes without saying that the next couple weeks are a bright, multicolored, sticky hell.

Marco leaves notes for everything. And I mean… _everything._ He leaves notes on my desk, with reminders about meetings, exams, and appointments. He leaves notes on the mini fridge about things we need to buy the next time we head to the store. He leaves notes in the bathroom to tell me to stop mucking with my hair. He even leaves notes in my goddamn shoes simply to tell me “Don’t forget your shoes!!!”

One day, I even find a sticky note folded up and stuffed into my wallet where I normally keep my cash. 

God. Damnit. Marco.

Frankly, I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of loudly voicing my annoyance, and so instead, my responses to his nonsensical Post-It note shenanigans mostly include a series of loud and melodramatic sighs.

Marco has started to use the sticky notes even more frequently during his studies. His text books look as if someone glued a bucket of confetti inside the pages – bright, multicolored tabs sticking out all along the edges. His notebooks are filled to the brim with extra little notes, stuck in, around, and under sections of his notes he believes to be extra important.

Why he can’t just fucking _highlight_ them, I’ll never know.

For the most part, I suppose I’ve kind of grown accustomed to the Post-It notes’ presence around the room. It’s annoying. But I suppose it isn’t _too_ odd to have notes on the fridge and the door and the mirror.

The shoes and the wallet were a little much, but whatever.

Marco still isn’t half way through the pile of notepads he gathered onto his desk a couple weeks ago, and frankly, even his best efforts to pointlessly utilize them as quickly as possible are failing. I can handle a few obnoxious notes if it means watching him lose our little challenge even harder.

But I suppose it was too much to hope that Marco had reached the limitations of the sticky notes.

Because eventually, I start to notice notes in other odd places.

One morning, after Marco has already left for class, I wake up slowly and note that the room appears slightly more… colorful than it had last night.

Now, there appear to be least five notes on the fridge, rather than three. There are few notes taped to the food basket atop the fridge, and a couple on Marco’s desk. There also looks like there are a few extra notes stuck to the door to our suite. Standing slowly, I stretch and head over towards my desk, unable to ignore the small flashes of color that rest atop it.

There’s one note on my desk, reminding me about my meeting with my advisor. And directly next to it, there’s a note stuck to one of my text books that simply reads: 

Okay. That’s weird, I’ll admit it.

I opt simply to ignore it, tugging it off my book and crumpling it up into an angry little ball on my desk. I turn around and head to the bathroom to relieve my aching bladder. And rather than there simply being a note on the mirror, as there was a couple days ago, instead I find a note on the sink, a note on the toothbrushes, and even a note on the toilet, all with pristine, neat little labels written in Marco’s fastidious handwriting.

With a sigh, I stalk back out of the bathroom, heading towards my closet to get dressed for class. Upon opening the door, I see with dismay that I’m met with – you guessed it – fucking sticky notes stuck to my clothes. Several articles of clothes are labeled, with things like “coat”, “shirt”, and “hat”, and frankly, this is just unfair. I don’t know if it’s better that I just leave them there, or if I grab ahold of the lot and toss them in the garbage.

I’m almost afraid that if I opt for the latter, I will find a note stuck to the trash can that reads “garbage”.  

I grumble softly to myself, finding a shirt and yanking off the annoying, yellow piece of paper. Before I turn away, I can’t help but reach back and spitefully jerk a few of the others down, wadding them up in my fist with frustration. I head towards the trash can to through them away, and lo and behold, what do I see stuck to the rim of the can? 

Well… At least I’m not surprised.

**::**

When I get back to the room from class, I quickly note the sound of the shower running. Given that our side of the dual-suite bathroom door is open, I figure it must be Marco. I could have sworn he had class.

Sliding into the dorm, I slip off my shoes, shouting briefly to Marco as I attempt to ignore the Post-It note that’s stuck to the front of my closet door.

“Marco?” I call out.

“In the shower! Be out in a second.” My boyfriend shouts back.

I head over to my desk, shrugging my backpack off onto the floor and eying a couple of things on my desk. At this point, I’ve accepted the notes that are stuck along the edges of my desk, with their pointless little labels that read “desk”, “drawer”, and “shelf”. And honestly, the only reason I haven’t taken them down is that I figure if I leave them up, Marco won’t have an excuse to replace them and use up _more_ of the notes. I won’t let him win that easily.

As the sounds of the shower flick off, met quickly by the sliding sound of the curtain, I flop down into my chair. Honestly, I barely even notice the crinkling sound of paper that rustles as I sit, already accepting that there’s probably a note on it that reads “chair” or something equally annoying. I snag my Roman Sculpture text from off the shelf and flip open my planner, trying to figure out which pages I need to read. But as I pull it out, I notice almost immediately that there are at least 20 colorful tabs sticking out from the side of the book.

I stare at it for a moment, before gruffly grabbing one of the tabs and flipping to the marked page. I flip to the next one, and the next one, and the next one. Flipping back and forth to all of the sticky notes that mar my book.

There is a Post-It note tab for each and every single chapter in this book.

I sigh and shut the book hard.

“Marco, this is CHEATING!” I say brusquely, my voice carrying through the dorm.

I’m fairly certain I hear the bastard chuckle before calling back to me.

“All’s fair in love and Post-Its, sugar.”

I groan dramatically, dragging my hands along my face.

“I want a divorce!” I shout back to him around my hands.

“We aren’t married!”

With a sigh, I lower my voice a bit, speaking more to myself than to Marco.

“Yeah, thank god for that…”

“ _Excuse_ you?” I hear Marco shout back from the bathroom.

I swear to fucking god, that boy has the hearing of a goddamn bat.

“N-Nothing!”

I stare at my textbook for another moment longer, simply taking in the colorful tabs that line the edges, until eventually I sigh and fling it shut.

**::**

As the month begins to wind down, so too does the pile of sticky notes sitting on Marco’s desk. At this point, it isn’t so much that I’ve resigned myself to the fact that Marco might win this little challenge, but rather, I have resigned myself to the fact that this must just be my life now.

I am falling down a spiral of acceptance that is life, for some reason – a hot boyfriend and a box of multicolored, festive Post-It notes just dying to coat what little empty space remains in this dorm room.

Kill me.

One morning, I wake up alone in bed, Marco having already left for class. But upon waking, I’m startled to find that rather than being met with the gentle light of morning, I’m met instead with my vision obscured. The feeling that rises up in me is nothing short of panic. I flail quickly, flinging the covers around in a flurry, trying to figure out what exactly is sitting on my face and I how I can most effectively kill whatever it is. Fumbling at my face, I snatch the item off, freezing when I see that it’s a goddamn sticky note that had been stuck to my forehead.

With a grumble, I clench the note up in my fist, not even bothering to read it. I hop up out of bed, and head towards the trash can, ready to throw it away as angrily as one can throw away something that weighs 0.2 ounces...

It’s only out of a momentary lapse in judgment that I actually open my fist to glance at the note itself before tossing it. 

I pause as I read the note.

I want to throw it away, and yet… I can’t help the little smile that slips onto my lips. Straightening the note out a bit in my palm, I step away from the trash can, moving instead over to my desk. I snag my planner out from my backpack and flip to today’s date, gently placing the note on the page to mark its place.

With the planner closed, I slide it back into my backpack quietly, as if I’m trying to be discrete despite the fact that no one’s actually here.

Marco will not hear of this.

I quickly grab a shower, noting the multitude of colorful notes that still line our side of the bathroom with a shake of my head. As I’m getting dressed and mucking with my hair (despite the Mirror Note’s instruction not to worry about it), a brief knock sounds on the connecting door to our neighbor’s suite.

“Come in!” I say loudly, still fiddling with my hair.

The door creaks open a bit and Armin’s blonde head of hair pokes through before entering fully.

“Hey, Jean.” He says, moving to their side of the sink to brush his teeth.

He quickly begins to brush, toothpaste foaming a bit, and I’d have to be blind not to notice the way he’s pointedly glancing over at our side of the sink.

“Sho…” Armin lisps around his mouthful of toothbrush and toothpaste. “…I’m not one to shudge… but…” he pauses for a moment, leaning down to spit out the mouthful of foam and take a sip from the sink. He wipes his mouth and replaces his toothbrush before returning his attention to me. “But uh… what’s with all the…” Armin makes a quick little gesture around the bathroom, “…notes?”

Armin gestures idly towards our side of the bathroom. There are at least ten notes on our side of the mirror, and somehow the ones on the only toilet in the room still haven’t been thrown away. Honestly, I’m surprised it took him this long to even ask.

I sigh and give him a noncommittal wave of my hand.

“It’s a long story.”

Within a second, Eren’s head pops through the door with a little sneer on his face.

“Is Marco finally teaching you how to spell, Seabiscuit?” The brunet asks with a chortle.

“Fuck off, Jaeger.”

Armin quickly turns his head to scold Eren, who simply laughs throatily and retreats back into their dorm. The blond turns his attention back to me expectantly, as if he’s hoping I’m going to offer… some sort of explanation for any of this.

I think of a couple easy ways of explaining it in my head, and each one sounds more ridiculous than the one before it. With a groan, I straighten up my back.

“Ahhh, long story short, he’s trying to win a bet with me.”

“…Okay, then,” Armin starts with a brief nod, “Somehow that left me more confused than before, so I’m just gunna leave it at that.”

I force a flat, sarcastic smile.

“For the best…”

**::**

The month finally draws to a close, and all that remains of the pile of Post-It note pads on Marco’s desk are two measly half-used up pads. I’ve already accepted that Marco has won our little wager.

He _cheated_ , but he won, and I’m not gunna bitch and moan about it. At least… not too much.

I return to our room after my 9 am class, tired and ready to flop back into bed and go to sleep. Marco’s class had canceled this morning, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he was still in bed. I unlock the door and slip inside, tossing my bag down.

I’m about to strip off my jacket, but the sight in front of me makes me pause.

First, I note that Marco’s not in bed anymore, or even in sight at all.

Second, I notice that the room is starkly devoid of any colorful sticky notes. The notes on the fridge are gone, the little labels littered around the room are gone, and even my desk – which had previously been all but coated with the blasted things – is blank.

The only exception is a single Post-It note sitting atop my closed laptop. I head towards my desk and pluck it off of my computer, holding it gently between my fingers. 

I chuckle and shake my head.

Distantly, I hear the sound of the sink running, followed by the sound someone gargling and spitting. The door to the bathroom opens and Marco emerges with a big grin on his face.

I meet his smug smile with a small little scoff, trying to hide my own smile as I turn around to embrace him.

His hands on my waist, he looks at me expectantly. I can’t help but roll my eyes.

“What?" I ask, feigning ignorance. But Marco isn't going for it. "Ughhh, fine. Congrats? I guess?”

Marco laughs and leans down to kiss my nose.

“Sore loser.”

He releases me with a brief smack on my ass.

“Well, you did _cheat_.” I tell him matter-of-factly.

“Psh, did not, I just… worked around the system.”

“That’s cheating.”

“Nuh uh, now come on. Time to pay up.”

Marco sits on the edge of the bed and digs into his pocket, pulling out a folded up yellow note. He offers it to me and I can’t stop the groan that seeps past my lips as I trudge closer.

“Ah, come on, maaaaaan.” I whine, snatching the note from him and unfolding it.

I eye it quickly and quirk my eyebrow. 

I glance at Marco questioningly; there’s a smug, satisfied smirk on his face as he stares at me. Without a word, he lifts his hand and beckons me over. I sigh, trying like hell to hide my smile and step closer to him.

On the edge of the bed, Marco spreads his legs a little, letting me come stand between them. I drape my arms around his shoulders as his hands come to grip my ass. He massages the flesh gently through my jeans, nuzzling his face against my chest, and even I can’t resist letting my hands lift up to lace in his hair.

I lean down and plant a kiss on his forehead, before he quickly tugs me back down to meet his mouth.

Marco kisses me hot and hard, clearly not wanting to waste any time getting his payment. I don’t mean to, but I groan a little against his lips, pressing in a little harder and moving my hips in his grip. Not wanting to break the contact with me, he reluctantly shifts back on the bed, grabbing ahold of the front of my jeans and tugging me forward with him.

I crawl along with him, draping my body along the length of his, resting gently between his legs as he tugs me down for yet another kiss. His mouth is hot and warm, and I can’t help but note that it’s been over a week since the two of us had gotten frisky, both of us a bit too distracted with the Post-It notes (him trying to use them at all opportunities, and me trying not to imagine different ways I could set our dorm room on fire).

The almost immediate hardness in my jeans is a testament to how I’ve craved him, and it seems Marco hasn’t fared much better. With a quick roll of his hips, he thrusts his denim-clad erection up against my own. I hiss at the pressure, thrusting my tongue deeper into his mouth. I feel Marco’s hands begin to slide away from my hips, slipping their way up underneath my shirt, his fingers pressing hard into the muscles of my back.

I disconnect our mouths, quickly shucking off my shirt, as Marco follows suit. He tugs me back down with gusto, our bare chests pressed flush against each other as he slips his tongue back into my mouth. Idly, I feel him fumbling with the buttons of my jeans, undoing them clumsily before shoving his hands under the fabric, at first just barely grazing my erection before moving to grip the flesh of my ass firmly.

With a groan, I pull away from him, leaning over to the shelf behind the bed to grab some lube.

And that’s when I see it.

One more. Goddamn. Post-It note.

Stuck to the shelf, that reads: 

“Oh my god!” I grunt loudly, already met with Marco’s sudden boisterous laughter. I sigh and move to stand up off the bed in a huff, but Marco grabs my arms and tugs me back.

“No, no! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He tells me through his giggles, hands tugging on me and rubbing at my skin, not letting me stand up off the bed. “Jean, come on, I’m sorry. I just… I couldn’t resist.”

“I hate you _so_ much.” I say flatly, glaring down at him, but allowing myself to settle back down between his legs.

Marco leans up, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of my neck. He nibbles and bites before dragging his tongue along the line to the shell of my ear. In a deep, throaty voice, he whispers low enough to make me shiver.

“No, you don’t…”

I groan and slip my hand around to the back of his neck, threading my fingers into his hair. With a gentle tug, I pull his head away from my neck and press my mouth against his again.

“You’re cruel.” I mumble against his lips.

Marco nods silently, his hands suddenly shoving at my pants and underwear.

I move quickly, shucking off the remainder of my clothes as Marco does the same to his. I lean back over and grab the lube, pointedly ignoring the red Post-It note this time, and return my attention back to my boyfriend. 

Marco stretches out languidly, already rolling steadily to lie flat on his stomach. Kneeling beside him, I give him a little slap on the ass before pouring a little lube over my fingers. I move close to him, watching as he automatically spreads his legs so I can kneel between them. My dick is rock hard at this point – it’s been too long since I’ve gotten to have him. Kneading the flesh of his cheeks with one hand, I spread him gently, rubbing my lubed fingers softly over his entrance.

Marco groans at my touch, his body tensing a little as I slip a finger inside him. He’s fucking tight, and I can hardly hold myself back from simply finger fucking him like I want to. I lean over him, my finger sliding in and out of him slowly as I drag my other hand along the length of his spine. He fucking _keens_ at my ministrations, lifting his hips and raising his ass almost automatically. It’s my cue if there ever was one to give him more.

Without a word, I slide in another finger, followed briefly by a third, until Marco is jutting his hips up and begging me,

“Just get on with it, Jean, _please_ …”

“Okay, okay…” I mutter. I slip a condom on and pour a little lube in my hand, stroking it over myself steadily. Marco’s still flat on his stomach, his ass cocked up just enough to give me access. I edge his knees apart a little more with my own, leaning down to rub my dick along his entrance. Marco groans out a wicked sound, trying his best to angle his hips back more for me.

I know he wants me to get on with it, to fuck him good and hard and fast, but he’s not going to get his way. I slide myself along his entrance a couple times, and each time, the head just barely threatening to enter. Marco groans and whines and tenses each and every time, until finally, I let myself slip inside ever so slowly.

The sound Marco makes is sinful: a low, pointed groan as his muscles tense around me. I breathe out heavily, pushing myself in to the hilt before draping myself along his back. Steadily, I slip my arms beneath his, my hands reaching ‘round to clasp onto his shoulders before I steadily pump my hips.

It’s slow.

It’s too slow for Marco, and I know it is. And honestly, it’s a bit too slow for me too. But Marco’s gotten to torment me for a bit too long now, so I feel I’ve earned a little payback.

“ _Please_ …” Marco pants out, trying like hell to move his hips to urge me to go faster.

And I do. Ever so slightly, I begin to rock into him, moving my hips faster and more firmly with each thrust, until I’m fucking into him with gusto. Each pump of my hips earns me a harsh, tormented groan from my lover. Our breaths are labored, hot and heavy, laced with whimpers and groans as I drive myself into Marco. 

I can feel my orgasm starting to build, but I’m not ready yet. With a quick bite of Marco’s shoulder, I unthread my arms from beneath him, pushing up to my knees and pulling out of him.

Marco lets out a moan – loud and disappointed – but I don’t wait. With a smack of his ass, I grab his hips, ushering him to his knees before sliding home once more.

I fuck him in earnest, listening to every sweet little cry he makes. I lace my arm around him and take hold of his dick, moving my hand along it languidly. He’s getting tighter – his muscles tensing and clenching – and I know he’s getting close. The pleasure building up in me, I jerk Marco off, fucking him and pushing him further, and further, and further. Until finally, he shudders, coming hard with my name on his lips.

Two more pumps of my hips and I’m done for, coming with a loud groan.

The two of us ease back down to the mattress, steadily untangling and settling down atop the mattress. We lie down for a moment, breathing heavily side by side, before Marco leans over and kisses me softly. He lifts up and gets up, grabbing a napkin for me to clean up with.

After we're cleaned up, we settle back down, lying close together, Marco nuzzling his way up under my arm as my fingers toy in his hair.

“Mmm, love you.” Marco says leisurely.

“Heh, love you too.”

I kiss his forehead and stroke his hair, staring up at the ceiling idly. I let the silence reign between us for a moment before chuckling to myself.

“You know…” I start slowly, “I gotta say, that was a _whole_ lot of effort just to get me to have sex with you… Especially considering you can already get that whenever you want…”

“What?” Marco asks with confusion, lifting his head to look at me. Suddenly, he smiles and lets out a loud laugh, shaking his head quickly. “Oh, no, that wasn’t your payment. No, you’re taking me out to fucking dinner, my love. This was just a bonus.” 

**::**

 

**Author's Note:**

> I had literally so much fun with this request. I really hope it came out as well as I think it did. Regardless, it was so much fun to write. 
> 
> Thank you guys for reading, hope you enjoyed! As usual, any comments/reviews/likes/reblogs are greatly appreciated. 
> 
> And also as usual, I have a [tumblr](http://commodorecliche.tumblr.com), if you guys want to check me out!


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